


on a bed of roses & i wanna kiss your silhouette

by ladyfenharel



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 90's Music, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/F, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, sansaery, there are mentions of abuse @ petyr's hands
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 21:06:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8549110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyfenharel/pseuds/ladyfenharel
Summary: Everyone is born with a name tattooed on their wrist- the name of their Mate.It’s 1994 in London, and Sansa Stark doesn’t know why she’s falling for someone who isn’t her Mate.





	1. la méprise

**Author's Note:**

> no beta so all mistakes are mine! Sansa Stark is the love of my life so I hope you all enjoy this. rated M for future plans. content warning for stockholm syndrome and abuse - Sansa is living with Petyr, so all the sketchy abuse that comes with him is included in here.

Alayne’s hips circled in time to the music blaring on the radio, her hair whipping around her warm face. _The Golden Rose_ ’s new single echoed in her ears, sending pleasant chills down her spine. They were her favourite band, headed by a pretty mess of a girl who was always in the tabloids; she sang sweet love songs wrapped in the latest grunge sound.

(Alayne adored the contrast.)

She jumped when Mya slapped her bottom. “Ten minutes left til you’re chained to someone for life!”

Myranda and Mya laughed loudly, their cheeks reddened from the wine Petyr had left for them. _A gift for your special day,_ he had said.  Alayne blushed. “There’s nothing chaining about finding your Mate! It’s Fate bringing two like souls together.”

Myranda guffawed, walking over to change the cassette. “You’re such a romantic, Alayne. Your parents must not have been Half-Mates- otherwise you’d feel differently.”

Her eyes widened, and she felt her lips part with an exhale of breath. “Your parents aren’t Mates?”

Courtney Love’s voice crackled through the radio as Myranda took the last swig of her drink. “They aren’t. Surprised you hadn’t heard that already- everybody gossips about it. My poor mum.”

Alayne frowned. Half-Mates did not fit into her vision of what Fate had aligned for her. Or anyone else, really; she felt a pang of sadness for Mrs. Royce. “That’s terrible. I’m not sure I would want to be with someone if they weren’t my Mate. Or if I could ask someone to stay with me if I wasn’t theirs.”

Mya dropped into the bean bag beside them. Her earlier energy seemed to have dissipated. “You say that now, but have you seen the way people get when they find their person? All soft and mushy, like they don’t even have their own thoughts. Only what the other one wants.”

She stuck out her tongue. It made Alayne think of another dark-haired girl who blanched at the thought of Mates, but she pushed that image away. Instead, she glanced at the clock on her bedroom wall. “I’m nervous.”

A knock came at her door. “Alayne, dear, it’s almost time.”

Petyr’s voice sounded strained. He must have had a lot of work to catch up on if he was just getting home. Alayne opened the door to see him standing with arms wide. She accepted his hug, his minty scent filling her nose. “Father, how do you feel about Mates?”

His eyes sparkled, and he idly brushed over his moustache. “That’s a tale for another time. Tonight is your night. Let’s go into the kitchen. I’ve had a special cake made for you.”

He pressed his hand against the small of her back, encouraging her down the stairs.

Mya swore loudly, rushing after her. “Two minutes!”

They sat at the table, a dizzying rush overcoming Alayne. She couldn’t help the smile stretching across her lips. Mya and Myranda chatted idly, though she had no desire to make out what they were saying. She closed her eyes in time to feel the light buzz tickling the delicate skin of her wrist. She knew it wasn’t the wine making her feel that heat. Her heart fluttered in her chest, and she idly wondered if it would be a name she knew. She was revelling in the feeling of the Mark being made, her eyes pressed shut, when she noticed how eerily quiet the room had become. Only the crackle of the kitchen’s fireplace echoed.

When she opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was Petyr’s face, his cold gaze glued to her wrist.

Then, Mya’s sudden interest in the floor.

Myranda was the only one to look her in the eye. “Guess we both lost that bet, Mya.”

Alayne’s heart was in her throat when she let herself drop her gaze to the black script on her wrist.

 _Margaery_.

Her Mate’s name.

_A girl’s name._

Petyr cleared his throat. “Alright, ladies- off with the both of you. There’s still school in the morning, and I don’t want to hear from any of your parents that you’re skipping-” he winked at the two of them, before finishing, “Or about the little drink you got here. ”

The two girls shuffled out, stringing together goodbyes and happy birthday’s as they disappeared.

The slam of the door brought Alayne’s attention back to the present. Her cheeks were wet, she realized. She glanced up at Petyr, her lip trembling. “Father, I’m so-”

The crack of his palm against her cheek reverberated in the quiet of the night. The sting spread across her face. She stayed there, her head still turned away, noting distantly the lemon cake on the white marble counter.

He sighed, and pressed a wet kiss to the offended cheek. “There’s a bracelet in your drawer upstairs. Goodnight, Alayne.”

She stood, dazed. Once in bed, she wrapped the golden bracelet around her wrist, covering the Mark.

Alayne whispered the name to the dark. Alongside the fear lodged within her chest,  tendrils of something golden and _good_ fought to be felt.

  


##  *** * ***

 

She didn’t want to go to school the following day. Or the next day. But Alayne dragged herself from her bed each morning, trying to avoid meeting the unflinching stare directed at her over breakfast. Her real father would have understood, a small voice would whisper. She drowned it out with _The Golden Rose_ ’s new album.

Kids at school tried to pry her name from her. She laughed it off, trying to seem coy. The frowns from Myranda and Mya reminded her that she could never hide from what they had seen. She wished she had kept her nameday a secret. She used to love celebrating it, but now- now it would only remind her of the twisting confusion she felt in her gut. None of this fit into the love songs Alayne loved so much. Perhaps Fate had messed up.

 _Why_ did it have to be a girl’s name? Something in her knew Petyr would have been mad were it not his name regardless, but this made it ten times worse. She was certain he would have no teeth in a few weeks if he continued to grind his jaw like he had been since her nameday.

Alayne approached him at dinner one evening, hoping to remedy his anger. Mozart played in the background, and the only lighting was from the fireplace and lanterns outside the window. She sat close to him, letting her thigh brush his. He always calmed at her touches. “Father, have you ever met someone you thought was your Match?”

He turned cold eyes on her, and for a moment she regretted her decision. He let himself smile, though, brushing a lock of Alayne’s hair behind her ear. “Yes, my sweet daughter. I did indeed.”

Something in his eyes frightened her, so she hung her head to look at her wringing hands. “What happened? Do you - do you think Fate can be wrong?”

He simpered, cocking his head to the side. “Is my little sweetling angry over her choice of name?”

The words dripped in ice. It was only fair of him to be upset with her- he had done so much to take care of her, and yet his name was not the one on her wrist. Alayne understood. Tears crowded her eyes when she replied weakly, “it wasn’t a choice.”

“Do you remember your mother, Alayne?”

Petyr never brought up her former life- the time before he had rescued her from the accident. He needed her to play the game properly, act every part his daughter, so that the system never came looking for Sansa Stark. So Alayne had let her die in that same fire her parents had. She remembered watching the flames dance from the backseat of his car, the same colour her hair had been-

“Catelyn was my best friend growing up. We were both from London, you know. It was that damned Ned who made her move up to that hell he called home.” His eyes glazed over, nostalgia softening his face. “But we were Mates.”

Alayne couldn’t help the gasp that fell from her lips. “But-”

He sneered, and Alayne smelled alcohol on his breath. His fingers had wrapped around her forearms, gripping her with an uncomfortable intensity. “We were! I took her virginity in the backseat of my Ford Cortina, and we were going to run away together to America. But her bloody father introduced her to Eddard Stark, an actual Scottish _Lord_ who was heir to millions. So she chose unhappiness and money- but I know she still loved me. We were Mated, and she never forgot me. I even heard their firstborn looked like me.”

Her mouth was dry as she tried to form words. She tried to recall a glimpse of their wrists, though she had been only eight the last time she had seen them, and still a stupid little girl- “Robb was your son?”

Petyr chuckled, swaying as he took another sip of his wine. “Probably. They were married only a few months after our love affair. So, you see: it is a choice after all, sweetling.”

She swallowed thickly, trying to ignore the room spinning. Petyr was still laughing as he leaned forward, pressing his mouth against hers. She tried not to let her body lock up- he never liked that- but then his fingers were digging into her hips and she couldn’t breathe-

The house phone rang. Petyr cursed repeatedly, but pulled away from her, leaving an uncomfortable wetness on her lips. He disappeared into his office, and she took the opportunity to run upstairs.

She turned on the shower and stayed crouched in the tub for hours, trying to recall the names on her parents wrists. It was no use, though, the memories long forgotten; she fell asleep with her head on her knees, her dreams filled with faceless ghosts.


	2. la nouveauté

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alayne meets a counselor who teaches her some things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Talk about the AIDS epidemic this chapter, and mention of death tw. Also some vague sexy time towards the end.  
> Margaery is coming next chapter I promise don't kill me

“I’m Ms. Chandor, but you can call me Margaret.” She had kind eyes and full lips that Alayne found herself looking at often. “You are all honors students who are willingly spending part of your summer’s doing volunteer work, and I’ll be your counselor. Basically, I’m who you come crying to when you have no idea what to do for university.”

There was a sprinkle of laughter among the twelve students. Margaret’s blue eyes found Alayne’s and the shorter woman winked.

(The name was close enough, Alayne figured.)

“While everyone else is jet setting around Europe or down to the Greek Islands, you’re making your uni applications stand out. I’ll be here with you throughout sixth form to guide you.” She placed her hands on her hips, her bright blonde pixie cut catching the sunlight. “Once we head inside, I want you to check out all of the booths. There will be a good amount of places you can offer to spend your time, and lots of other students from other areas. If you have questions, I’ll be hovering around.”

The inside bustled with activity. True to her word, Margaret walked around with them, pointing out places she was fond of. She leaned down to Alayne to point out a wildlife shelter. She smelled like pine trees. “I think you might like them. You seem like you have a bit of wild in you.”

Alayne’s lips parted, and she felt heat colour her cheeks. She hid her smile behind her curtain of brown hair, and ducked away to the proffered booth. The older gentleman at the table looked up. “Good morning dearie. Have any questions for me?”

He had a Scottish burr that she found charming. “What type of animals do you care for?”

“All sorts. We take in wounded ones, like wildcats and foxes, some deer, as well as foster pups and kittens. Volunteers usually work under vet techs, an’ clean up after the animals, but most of your time will be spent with the fosters. We don’t like the babes getting lonely, aye?”

Her heart warmed at the thought. She missed having animals at home- Petyr was not a fan of the smell or mess. A summer spent with them would not be bad at all.

“It’s a six week program,” Margaret cut in, sliding beside Alayne. “They give you food and housing for your work. And-” she leaned closer, whispering conspiratorially- “You get to spend time in Scotland, the prettiest place on Earth.”

The man at the table laughed. “Miss Chandor here is letting her nostalgia for home cloud her thoughts. I remember when she was just a wee lass, coming to visit the reservation and cry over all the sad animals.”

The two continued their banter, but all Alayne could think about was six weeks away from here, away from Petyr and Myranda and the fog of London, and she could almost taste the cold northern air- “What do I need to do?”

Margaret raised a brow. “You trust my word that much? There are lots of other places you can look at, Alayne-”

Fearing they might take someone else instead, she gripped the counselor’s forearm, pleading in her eyes. “No! I- I love animals. And I’ve always wanted to-” she willed her voice to steady- “to visit Scotland. Please.”

The last word came out breathless, a desperate plea that brought worry into Margaret’s eyes. She patted Alayne’s hands though, throwing a cocky smile back to the man. “I told you I would find a good one this year. Alayne got A*’s on all her GCSE’s, and she’s an angel if I ever met one.”

Margaret’s cocky smile lingered, softening in her eyes when she looked back at her. Alayne felt her heart flip.

Petyr took convincing- Alayne begged him to let her volunteer, as it was the only way she would get into her top university in London. He had work overseas, though, and eventually acquiesced.

She didn’t tell Myranda or Mya.

 

Alayne met with Gerard, the old man from the booth, and Margaret the week before she was scheduled to leave. They had arranged for all of her trip, and she had saved enough money for her journey there and back, and a little extra in case of some free time. They sat at a table in an empty coffee shop, exchanging pleasantries.

“We just need to finish up some of this paperwork, and you will be all set, Miss Stone.” Gerard sipped his coffee, eyeing a man at the counter. “I won’t be on-site this summer, but my son, Sandor, will be taking care of the place. He’s not as pleasant as me, but he’s good with the animals.”

He excused himself, heading towards the bar. Margaret watched him go with mirthful eyes. “Sixty years old, and he’s still trying to get some.”

The comment took her aback, and Alayne blanched. “What?!”

She threw her head back, laughter shaking her body. Alayne’s eyes were drawn to the pale expanse of skin above Margaret’s collar. “Sometimes you seem so much older than you are, and other times as naive as a child.”

She frowned, trying (and failing) to not to let the comment hurt her feelings. “I just- I didn’t know. He said he had a kid so-”

Smile slowly fading, Margaret eyed her. “A lot of us try hard to be something we aren’t, Alayne. It can take many years to admit the truth.”

The other woman’s words were hard and quiet. Anxiety prickled at the back of Alayne’s mind. She worried her lip, meeting the other woman’s stare. “How long did it take you?”

Margaret’s eyes glanced around the cafe before she leaned close, brushing her thumb over the back of Alayne’s hand. The contact made her breath slow, eyelids fluttering. Her voice was little more than a whisper. “Long enough to know it isn’t worth it.”

The bright eyes sparkled and suddenly Alayne feared she might cry. She withdrew her hand and mumbled an excuse to hurry to the washroom.

Alayne didn’t want to think about this conversation. A warmth lingered where Margaret’s fingers had traced, and she wondered at how much better it felt than Petyr’s touches. She tried to wrap her head around the coded words they had spoken and settled with throwing up the contents of her breakfast instead. _Nirvana_ filled the spaces in between her gagging.

A knock eventually came at the door. “Will you let me in, Alayne?”

She wanted to yell no. She wanted to keep the door shut forever and never have to face the world. She wanted a great many things and the realization of them all suddenly overwhelmed her.

Alayne got up from the toilet and rinsed her mouth. “It’s open.”

Margaret closed the cherry oak door behind her. Her bright eyes wandered over Alayne’s face. “Are you alright?”

She nearly laughed. Instead, she blinked, her eyelids heavy. When she looked in the mirror, red lined eyes and drab brown hair met her gaze. “I’m fine.”

The floorboards creaked when Margaret stepped closer to her, reaching out. Alayne flinched, and immediately flushed in embarrassment. She let out something between a sigh and a scoff. “Look- I don’t know what your situation is. I have a feeling it’s not good, though, and I’m glad you’re getting away for the summer. But, here… um, just to be safe.”

She pulled a notepad out of her plaid purse, pen scratching against the yellow paper. A dimple creased between her eyebrows as she wrote.

  The tear of the page echoed against the bare walls of the washroom. Alayne gripped it with trembling hands. “Your address?” Panic fluttered in her stomach. If Petyr were to know someone suspected _anything_ \- “Everything is fine, Miss Chandor. you needn’t-”

A callused palm brushed her cheek, and disappeared as quickly as it had came. “Just in case. Now let’s go, we don’t want to leave Gerard to his own devices for too long.”

They finished the paperwork and she watched Margaret and Gerard chat, a sweet familiarity between them. A heaviness settled over her. “I’ll Remember” played in the background, Madonna’s voice rising barely above the sound of coffee grinders.  Alayne fidgeted with her bracelet.

“You’ll be great for the sanctuary, lassie.” Gerard patted her on the shoulder, more wrinkles bunching around his smile. “Ye’ve a good soul, I can tell.”

 

* * *

 

“You didn’t think to tell us about this bloody vacation of yours?”

“It’s not a vacation, it’s a volunteer trip-”

“To Scotland of all places! Mya, are you listening to this? Alayne is abandoning us for the Scots.”

Mya lazily looked up from the television, Nintendo controller clutched in her hands. “You’re so bleedin’ clingy, Myranda. It’s just for a month. Although it might’ve been nice to know more than a day in advance.”

She shot a reprimanding glare Alayne’s way. She was always the fair one between the three of them. Alayne folded her favourite black trousers and placed them in her luggage. “I am sorry. I’ve just been having a strange couple of months. We can hang out loads when I’m back, if you’d like.”

Myranda huffed, collapsing onto Alayne’s bed. “I’m not sure. We’ll see if I forgive you by then.”

Mya swore as her character died once more. “Can I keep your system while you’re away?”

Alayne smiled. Mya adored her games, probably as much as Alayne loved her books. She nodded. “I’m excited to see Scotland again.”

She hadn’t realized the meaning of the words until they were out- and then she could not take them back.

Myranda looked up from her place on the silk sheets, cocking her head. “When’ve you been to Scotland?”

She hadn’t slipped up like that in so long. Panic prickled along the back of her neck. Petyr’s voice played over in her mind. _Look around you, we're all liars here._ “Oh-” _And every one of us is better than you._ “I haven’t. I’ve only, ah- I’ve just seen pictures in a book. So I’ll be glad to see it again, but in actuality.”

Alayne kept her eyes on her luggage, not daring to see what might be in Myranda’s eyes. Had she sounded convincing? She zipped her clothes away and yawned. “I need to be up early to catch the train. Thank you both so much for coming over. I’ll miss you terribly.”

Mya caught her in a hug before she realized what was happening. She smelled of butterscotch. “Be safe, Alayne.”

She pressed a kiss against Alayne’s flushed cheek, and Myranda waved dismissively at the both of them. “Maybe if you bring me back something pretty I might hug you again. I’ll show myself out.”

She was so flighty- Alayne wondered if Myranda ever tired of feeling so many emotions each day. Her dark head of curls disappeared down the creaking stairs. Mya switched off the telly and grabbed the Nintendo. “Goodnight.”

“See you soon. Keep her out of trouble.”

She gave a toothy grin. “No promises.”

 

Alayne tried to sleep. She did. But she couldn't bear the silence. Loneliness ate at her.

She stretched across her bed, throwing the covers off. She put on a pretty sweater and black jeans and found herself pulling along her luggage.

The dark sky and low murmur of a city at night enveloped her as she locked her door. She let her feet take her through London, a nervous pressure wrapping around her throat. The brisk spring air bit at her cheeks, and she wrapped her leather jacket closer.

Then there was a yellow door before her, the name Chandor inscribed beside it.

Alayne stared at the wood, one hand hovering in front of the knocker. She chewed at her lip. Margaret would most certainly be asleep at this hour. What had she been thinking? She fiddled with her bracelet, breathing out slowly. She tapped lightly on the door with her knuckles. Miss Chandor probably wouldn’t hear it anyways, and then she could just go back home-

“Who is it?”

Alayne grimaced. Too late to run now.

The voice was faint and most definitely familiar. Three clicks of a lock and the yellow door opened, displaying a messy-haired Margaret. She tilted her head, and a genuine- if not quizzical- smile spread across her face. “Alayne? Did you forget some of your paperwork, lass?”

Her throat burned. She opened her mouth to say something, and instead wet her chapped lips.

“Fuck, where are my manners? Come in, come along, I’ll make us some tea.”

Alayne followed her in, closing the door behind her. The loft smelled of Miss Chandor- a chamomile scent mixed with something natural, like the woods. She left her luggage by the door.

“Have a seat wherever you’d like. Sorry, I’m in the midst of painting the sitting room, so it’s rather messy. Are you alright?”

She sat on one of the stools, admiring the rustic decor. She hadn’t imagined Margaret’s home would be so… cozy. The fireplace crackled gently, and she remembered a different yellow kitchen, the flicker of a memory from another time.

The tea kettle banged against the stove, drawing Alayne’s attention back to the present. She watched as Margaret bustled around the kitchen. She took some cakes out of the cupboard, cursing when she couldn’t find napkins. “I’ve no clean plates right now, so you’ll have to excuse eating out of the box. I’m not used to hosting.”

Alayne smiled, the feeling soothing her jitters. “There’s nothing to be sorry for- I only came to talk. I was lonely.”

She paused, arms full of the found napkins and cakes, foot midstep. “Ah. Right.” Dropping the food in front of Alayne, she sat beside her, at the end of the island. “Well, eat up anyway. You’re like a walking skeleton, you are.”

Alayne wrinkled her nose. “I am not! I just grew tall as a teen, never really filling out like the other girls.”

She didn’t miss the way Margaret glanced down at her chest, eyes darting away to the cakes just as quickly. “You’ve filled out fine, luv. I just worry.”

Her cheeks burned and she felt dizzy.

“What did you want to talk about?”

Miss Chandor tilted her head, chin resting on her knuckles. Alayne found her eyes drawn to the braided fabric covering her Mark. It housed a rainbow of colours, intertwining and dancing along her delicate wrist. “Have you met your Mate?”

The woman sucked in air, as if she had hit her. The tremble of her lip made Alayne regret her question. “Yes.”

The answer made her pulse race, nervous that she had misread the situation.

“I was Mated.”

Past tense. Alayne’s fingers covered her mouth. “I’m so sorry- I didn’t mean to pry.”

The tea kettle whistled, and Margaret stood too quickly. Why had she been so daft? This is why it was impolite to talk about Soul Marks, why they were kept private beneath bracelets. She could imagine Catelyn scolding her now: _Ladies are meant to be delicate and graceful._ The force of the memory and the gracelessness of her questioning made her eyes water. But Margaret quietly set the tea before her, voice low. “I just didn’t expect the topic to come up. Her name was Amelie. We fought like wildcats the first few months- I never would have thought our names were Marked on each other’s wrists during that time. But you don’t get that sort of passion from any other than your Mate.”

Margaret’s eyes were glazed over in memory, and the warmth radiating from her face made Alayne’s heart clench. “You loved her, though.”

She barked a short laugh. “That doesn’t even feel like an appropriate word. They’ve yet to invent something strong enough for the feeling of being Mated.” She leaned forward, grin playing on her lips. “The first time we kissed, I knew. I couldn’t stop thinking it in my head after that. _My Mate, my Mate_ \- it would just play over and over whenever I thought of her or saw her or kissed her.”

It sounded like magic. It sounded like every story Alayne had ever read. The force of it made her woozy.

Margaret continued. “She had golden hair that used to smell of lavender. She loved everything on this Earth, and every bloody thing loved her back. She was the one who got me to go to the Sanctuary in the first place. I’d have done anything for her.”

Alayne reached across the short distance between their hands, brushing her fingers against Margaret’s. “Amelie sounds lovely.”

A beat passed. “She was fighting the Virus. I stayed with her every night, at the Royal Free, for months. I really thought if I prayed enough, I could make her better. That the sores would disappear, or they’d find a cure. I lost god after that.”

Silence stretched taut through the air. One of Petyr’s mates had passed away from the AIDS Virus last year. She remembered seeing the sores, the sadness in his face. It made her ill to think of watching one’s Mate go through such pain- not being able to do anything about it. “I’m terribly sorry, Margaret. She deserved better.”

Blue eyes looked towards Alayne, searching every inch of her face. “You remind me a bit of her. Too good.” She looked at their hands, pressing her other palm on top of Alayne’s. “I’d wished it were me that had got it instead. I still do.”

A wet trail made its way down her cheeks. “You’re healthy, and funny, and- you could have another mate out there.”

“I can’t imagine- oh, bloody hell- you show up here at midnight and I make you cry. C’mere.” Margaret scooted her chair closer, brushing away Alayne’s tears. Her thumb lingered on the wet trail by her mouth. Her eyes lingered there, too. “I can’t imagine loving someone else like Amelie. But there’s other things, that you don’t need to be Mates to do.”

Her stomach coiled. “Like what?”

“Have you been with a woman before, Alayne? That’s what’s on your wrist, yea? A woman’s name?”

Her chest rose and fell quickly, like there wasn’t enough air. She nodded. “Yes.” She breathed out the words. “But, ah- I’ve not. Been with someone.”

Margaret’s thighs touched hers, only the thin denim fabrics separating their skin. “Would you like to?”

She nodded, eyes burning with some emotion she couldn’t place. When Margaret’s fingers brushed over her lower lip, that burning traveled lower. She closed her eyes, afraid she might faint.

Margaret’s mouth replaced her fingers. Alayne softened, leaning into the kiss. It was gentle, and she liked it _much_ more than Petyr’s attentions.

She shook him from her mind. Then there was just air where Margaret had been, and her eyelids fluttered open. The woman extended her hand. “Come.”

The house remained in darkness, save for the light of the fire. Margaret led her down the corridor. The door at the end opened to reveal a small bedroom. Paintings of different sorts of flowers covered the walls. She left Alayne to put on a record by the windowsill.

Music floated around the room. Margaret returned, walking towards her until the back of Alayne’s knees bumped the bed. Her hands were cold as they traced up her arm.

This time, Alayne pressed forward, lips crashing against Margaret’s. The gentleness from their earlier kiss dissipates into something lust-filled. A wave of dizziness rushed over her. She was glad for the gentle nudge that had her on her back, Margaret smiling above her. “I can’t even explain how beautiful you are.”

She was not sure what possessed her, but it coiled tight in her stomach. “Then show me.”

Margaret’s fingers danced along the hem of her sweater. Her palms brushed against her hip bones, sliding up along her stomach. Her breath hitched. She made quick work of the sweater and lace bra, dipping her warm mouth to Alayne’s breast. She could not help the sad noises that slipped from her lips.

She left a wet trail kissing towards her undergarments, sucking on the sensitive space beside her hipbone. They shed the rest of their clothes, and Margaret settled between her pale thighs. She pressed a kiss against the inside of her knee, working her way up until Alayne felt her warm breath against her curls.

The high felt so different than when she touched herself. She supposed she didn't need to find her Mate to enjoy these pleasures.


	3. une femme ailée

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alayne makes a new friend, and arrives at the Sanctuary.

The other side of the bed chilled Alayne’s outstretched arm. Gooseflesh rose on her skin. A light sigh escaped her mouth as she stretched lazily across the sheets.

“Keep those noises up and there’s no way you’ll be making your train, lassie.”

Margaret leaned against the doorway, eyes smoldering. Alayne noted the numbers on the clock above her.  “I have time.”

She crossed the room, setting down her tea on the end table. The bed caved gently as she sat. “I’m glad you came to me last night.” Her hand felt cool as it engulfed Alayne’s. “I like you, Alayne. But I’m your counselor, and we- I shouldn’t have done that. You should be spending time with someone your age.”

Alayne flushed, dropping her gaze to the floor. It’s not as if she expected Margaret to marry her. She didn’t know how to reply.

After a beat of silence, she felt a soft kiss press against her cheek. “I’m sorry. I hope last night was good for you.” The ding of a microwave echoed from down the hall. “And you are always welcome here, if you need to get away from home. I have an extra bedroom.”

Alayne extricated her hands from Margaret’s and stood. She felt stupid, and young, and inexperienced. She tugged her sweater on, and sought out her jeans. “Thank you for the tea, but I’ll just head for the train.”

 

Alayne had the booth to herself. She immersed herself in her worn copy of Pride and Prejudice, eventually finding the sleep she so desperately needed.

In her dream, she felt everything twisting and turning. The mountains beside her were shrinking, and she turned to ask Petyr why. Instead, Robb stood there- her eldest brother, who always kept her safe. He braided her hair- an endless red sea- and laughed. “The mountains are always changing Sansa.”

She pursed her lips. “You look different.”

When he finished her braid, he walked beside her. He was tall now, the same height as her; besides the beard, they could have been twins. “How could you have left?”

He continued to the mountains but Sansa stopped, like an imaginary wall collided against her. Her bare feet felt so heavy under the snow. Why couldn’t she move? “Robb, wait. Robb!”

Her throat constricted, making it hard to breath and harder to shout. Panic engulfed her, the sort of attacks that she used to get as a child racking her body.  _ Not again. _

The scene dissipated in a white haze as she sat up. The bell reverberated throughout the train, people rushing through the aisles to get off.

Alayne realized there were tears still leaking from her eyes. She looked away, out the window, and wiped furiously at her cheeks. 

She stepped down onto the platform, filled with sounds of rolling luggage and shouts of reunited families. Alayne focused on the rumble in her stomach. A neon sign pointed her towards the enticing smell within the station.

The salesman smiled wanly.  “Good afternoon to you.”

Alayne ordered a vegetable wrap and sat down at the window counter. News played on the radio, about some American football player and a court case. Alayne drowned it out, as she usually did- everything on the news could be so dreary. It used to overwhelm her, as a child. Robb had been the only one who could calm her down, with his soft voice and kind words. Maybe that’s why she had dreamt of her eldest brother. Petyr had never been able to settle her anxiety, instead loading her up with medicine- which she had conveniently forgotten in her room.

“This your wrap?”

Alayne looked up, keenly aware of how absorbed she had been in seemingly nothing. A girl with hair like snow held out a plate. “Yes, sorry about that. Thank you.”

She shrugged. “The guy up there didn’t seem like he cared to bring it to you. Seems a little off his rocker.”

Alayne laughed. “Are you traveling from America?”

She beamed, grabbing her plate from another table and sitting besides Alayne. “Bit of a complicated story. I was born here- I mean, in London- but after my parents died, I got sent across the pond.”

“I’m so sorry-”

“Don’t be.” She took a bite of her chips, which were drowned in ketchup. “I was only five, so I don’t remember them much. But I spent the rest of my childhood in Los Angeles, hence the fucked up accent.”

Alayne grimaced at the stale lettuce on her wrap. “This is terrible.”

The girl pushed her plate towards her. “Have some fries. They seem to be the only edible thing here.”

“Oh, I couldn’t-”

“Hey, that’s what friends are for.” Her bright eyes sparkled. “And since we’re friends, I should probably tell you my name’s Dany.”

A genuine smile spread across her face. It felt foreign. “I’m Alayne.”

“Where are you headed, Alayne?”

The chips were quite good, though she could have done without all the sauce. She shouldn’t complain, though. “I’m volunteering at an animal sanctuary, up in Dundee.”

“No fucking way, dude.” She smiled, teeth sharp and white. (Almost feline.) “Same!”

It would be so nice not to be alone at the Sanctuary. Alayne just assumed she would be the only other person there, besides Gerard’s son. She glanced at her watch, taking one last handful of chips. “Are you taking the noon train over? We should get going.”

They got up, Dany throwing away their trash as Alayne ordered a tea for takeaway. 

People ran by Alayne, bumping into her shoulders and stepping on her toes, rushing to make their trains. The scent of sweat and smoke filled the common area. An oversized dome window above let the midday sun. Dany kept stride beside her, letting out a prolonged sigh. “Your legs are too long. I’m gonna have to hope on a skateboard and let you lead me to keep pace.”

Alayne laughed. “You’re rather dramatic.”

“You’re not wrong.” They walked by a dumpster, onto their platform. “Ugh, I can’t wait to get to fresh air. Why’re you going to the Sanctuary?”

Alayne ran her fingers through the dark strands of her hair. Her roots shone under the sunlight.. “I like animals. And I’ve heard Scotland is wonderful.”

“It is. You’ll love it, I’m sure. You’ve got a wild look about you, underneath all that armour.” Alayne felt her face warm, and Dany winked at her. “I want to be a vet. Figured this would be a good way to spend my summers, so I’ve been coming here for the past four.”

The train approaching shook the station, and a female voice announcing it crackled through the speakers. Dany reached out for Alayne’s hand, pulling her through the crowd. Alayne was thankful for the girl’s headstrong attitude- she always seemed to get lost in seas of people. The brakes screeched, and a man on the platform pleaded with the travelers to please mind the gap. A breeze from the doors opening tickled her face. She followed up the stairs into the carriage.

It hit her then that she had never really taken a holiday before. There were times when Petyr would take her around Europe, of course, on business ventures, or  _ family vacations-  _ but she never considered that time off. It meant more days spent with him, more hours strategically avoiding his advances. Whenever they were outside of the city, Petyr would grow bolder; there was no one who knew them in the middle of Istanbul, or some villa in Italy. Once, when they were visiting Santorini, Alayne had left their hotel early to lie on the red sand beach. She didn’t realize he had followed her until his hand gripped the back of her hair.  _ Did you think you could leave me,  _ he’d yelled, yanking her head back so she was level with his black gaze. She’d dropped her towel, tears stinging her eyes as she sought the words that would ease his anger. When he caught sight of her bathing suit, his grip softened, and he had kissed her for the next hour.

“Earth to Alayne?”

Dany waved a hand in front of her face. The world outside the train was moving. The attendant stood in their aisle, brows furrowed and eyes wide in what was clearly anticipation. Alayne shook her head, slipping her ticket from her backpack. “Here. I’m terribly sorry, I was caught in a daydream.”

The attendant looked as though she could not care less. She marked the ticket and moved on.

“Dreaming about your boyfriend back home?”

A crooked grin spread across Dany’s lips. She settled in the window seat, angling her body so she faced Alayne.

“I- no,” she admitted, a light laugh slipping from her. “No boyfriend.”

“Girlfriend?”

Alayne tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, avoiding Dany’s playful gaze. “No... I was thinking about how I’ve never been on vacation before.”

“Are you implying that you consider a community service trip to be a vacation?” She laughed, and the sound made Alayne smile. “You need to have more fun, girl.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Maybe you need to have  _ less. _ ”

With a dramatic scoff, Dany pressed her hands against her chest. “How could you ask something so ludicrous of me? And here I was, thinking I’d made a new friend.”

It was hard not to crack a smile at her acting. But Alayne played along, looking away with her nose in the air.  “It takes more than a pretty face and a few chips to attain my friendship.”

Dany leaned forward, into Alayne’s space, batting her eyelashes. “Oh, you think I’m pretty?”

Alayne caught herself admiring the lavender irises staring into her own. She tried to cover the nervous smile playing on her lips. “Anyone would be blind to think otherwise.”

She searched her gaze for a second more, then hummed. “True.”

Dany rifled through her backpack, retrieving a collection of magazines. She handed one to Alayne and they spent the rest of the time pouring over fashion and celebrity gossip.

The ride to Dundee was long, and the bus from the station to the Sanctuary was bumpy. Rolling hills and emerald fields passed by her on each side.  _ Home. _

Alayne’s muscles tensed up. Scotland wasn’t her home, not anymore. Her home was with Petyr, who had saved her and kept her safe. It was ungrateful for her to think otherwise.

Still, walking off of the bus stop and inhaling the crisp, clean air, seeing the cows grazing in the distance- a smile stretched wide across her cheeks. “Where do we go to check in?”

Dany hefted her backpack onto her shoulder. “This way.”

She led her through the gate, locking the clasp behind them. A dirt path wound through the farm, splitting further up to five different paths. They stopped at the crossroads, a cobblestone house to the left. Dany knocked on the red door, and Alayne noted the green sign besides them.  _ Clegane Sanctuary, Stables & Farm. _

A grunt answered Dany’s knock. She swung open the door, sauntering in like she lived there. “There’s my favourite farmer!”

Alayne stepped in after her, peeking her head around the doorway. A large man was scribbling wildly, dwarfing the desk he sat at. “You’ve come again?” He groaned. “And I’ve told you, I’m no farmer.”

“Act happier to see me, would you?” Dany sat in the plush chair across from the tall man. Alayne stood quietly behind her. “Can you go ahead and sign me and my dear friend in?”

The man looked up, most of his face obscured by long, dark strands of hair. Alayne’s mouth widened when she noted the angry red scars covering one side of his face. He stopped writing, eyes roaming over Alayne’s face. “You shouldn’t be friends with this one. Talks too much.”

She closed her mouth, admonishing herself for her impoliteness. She laughed, stilted and hollow. “Um, I don’t mind.”

He looked like he had a harsh retort on his tongue, but an uproar of barking and bleating echoed outside. A whirring noise approached from the distance. 

The man stood, and Alayne realized he was even taller than she was- probably by a foot. He towered above them, his broad shoulders seeming to take up all the space in the room. “Bloody hell.”

Alayne clutched her necklace, nerves tingling. “What’s that noise?”

Dany had stood, peeking out the window. “Why in god’s name is there a helicopter coming this way? You getting a visit from the Princess Di, Sandor?”

He marched past Alayne, filling her air with the scent of woods and sweat. “That’d make me a lucky bastard-” he grabbed a cane from beside the door- “Instead, I get to deal with a pint-sized bitch who thinks she’s a princess.”

Dany and Alayne exchanged looks. When Sandor trooped outside, Dany inclined her head and made to follow. “Who is it?”

“That Tyrell heiress. The one who sings that shite music.”

Alayne’s heart stopped. “ _ The Golden Rose _ ’s singer?”

Dany squealed. “Dude. We’re gonna  fucking meet MJ Tyrell!”

Sandor didn’t even glance at them. “Bugger off. You know your way around, Targaryen- go claim a room.”

MJ Tyrell was coming to the Sanctuary? What was she here for? Alayne had checked The Golden Rose’s tour dates for this year already- they was supposed to be in the States right now.

Dany was leading them back through the house, kicking dirt at the doorstep. “She’s a party girl. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her wear practical shoes, let alone work on a farm.”

Alayne chewed at her lip. “Maybe she has hobbies she keeps away from the public? I mean, who doesn't like animals?”

She wasn’t sure why an heiress who played grunge music was here. But she was sure that she would find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Margaery(MJ) was /kind of/ in this chapter so... I didn't really LIE....


End file.
